


the fairest star who stands in the sky

by aryastark_valarmorghulis



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Magic, First Kiss, First Meetings, Forests, Love at First Sight, M/M, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Werewolf Remus Lupin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 20:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28695030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryastark_valarmorghulis/pseuds/aryastark_valarmorghulis
Summary: In Arcadia, they say that magic breathes in the forest, between tall oaks, ferns and asphodels; under the all-shining moon, vine-clad slopes curl, clear streams scorch, and the herdsman god plays his hollow pipes, drawing on Satyrs and Naiads and goats and sheep. At night, the forest roars like the wine-dark sea.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 20
Kudos: 54





	the fairest star who stands in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my amazing Beta [maraudorable](https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentthunder/pseuds/maraudorable) for her patience and to [Ginny_Potter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginny_Potter) for the precious advice.  
> 

In Arcadia, they say that magic breathes in the forest, between tall oaks, ferns and asphodels; under the all-shining moon, vine-clad slopes curl, clear streams scorch, and the herdsman god plays his hollow pipes, drawing on Satyrs and Naiads and goats and sheep. At night, the forest roars like the wine-dark sea.

The goat-footed god, Pan the Dancer, came to Remus last night, when he shed his human skin to roam the woods and howl at the wandering stars with which the night is crowned. Remus’ limbs are loose, without aches or seizures, and he cannot taste copper in his mouth or blood springing from his wounds, and he understands the god is still there, as madness flies from his mind and Metis comes back to him. He cannot see – his eyes are still cloudy – does not need to. The god is a dark shadow, mist curling up milky-white around him, but his presence glows and burns like a holy fire, and the swooshing, delicate notes of a lyre fill Remus’ ears with honey-sweet notes.

Remus’ tongue is still frozen and his voice muffled as if he were under swirling waters. “Blessed god,” he says. “Well-met.”

A gleeful laugh follows his words like music and warm-soft hands touch his cheek; when Remus blinks, the veil of darkness falls from his eyes and he can  _ see _ .

Blades of light seep through the whooshing foliage above him, and rosy-fingered dawn is caressing the most lovely sight Remus has ever laid eyes on: a handsome, beardless young man with long raven hair, sun-kissed skin and flashing grey eyes. A lyre lies on a moss-covered rock next to him, and a leather pouch as well.

“My name is Sirius,” the god says, his voice low and deep like the thundering sky.

“Greetings,” says Remus, suddenly aware of being unclothed and sprawled on a bed of leaves. “Are you a mortal or a god? If you are one of the mortals that walk the earth, blessed are your father and mother and friends; but if you are a god that dwells in the sky, then I liken you to the scorching Dog Star, who beyond all stars shines with radiance.”

Sirius laughs again, and when Remus attempts to sit up, places warm, strong hands on his back to support him. “I am but a mortal, just like you are, a traveller from fair Athens,” he replies. “I wanted to make certain that you were unharmed and well, for these woods are dangerous and crowded with wild beasts – but I do not know your name yet.”

Remus crosses his uninjured legs, now fully ashamed of his nudity and of the silvery scars marring his body. Sirius might think him a beggar or an uncouth wanderer. “I am Remus and I come from the green hills of Arcadia, home of goat-footed Pan. I thank you for tending to me,” he says.

Sirius points at a bundle of garments lying on a huge round stone that Remus did not notice before. “I believe these are your clothes.”

Indeed, Remus finds his high boots, his wool chlamys and his chiton and dresses hastily – but his mind now spins with doubts and bewilderment, for he left his raiment on the outskirts of the forest, hooked on a gnarled tree branch, before he delved deeper to avoid the wolf escaping the boundaries of trees and tearing at his clothes. But now he finds himself in a thick oak grove, unharmed and with a mysterious stranger fetching his clothes.

It is Zeus who sends to us all strangers, Remus thinks, and so he speaks sweet words he would never dare speak to mortal men. “My eyes have never looked upon a mortal such as you,” he says.

Sirius smiles again, a gleeful glint sparkling in his clear eyes. “I have been courted before with those words, but I consider your words earnest, while suitors’ seldom are. Please eat with me some bread and cheese now, for I believe you should regain your strength after much exertion.”

Remus’ cheeks redden like ripe apples at the mention of courting, and he hesitates after hearing Sirius talk of the wolf’s exertion. But if this handsome man is not a god, then how could he know about his condition? And if Zeus, Watcher of Sea-Heavens, wants him to eat the food of this man-god, Remus will comply.

The loaf of bread Sirius splits is warm and soft as if just cooked by the fire, and the cheese is strong, its fresh smell of herbs filling Remus’ nostrils.

“Maybe you are right, though,” Sirius says. He rifles through his purse and, to Remus’ surprise, grabs not only a leather flask but two drinking cups – Remus could have sworn that the pouch was way too small to carry even one, but gods are capable of greater deeds. “The gods that weave the destiny of men wanted our paths to collide.”

Sirius takes a sip from his cup, swirling the liquid thoughtfully as if he can glimpse some heavenly omen in the dark wine, and eats his bread. 

Remus drinks in silence, the watered wine burning sweet-strong on his tongue, and ponders: if Sirius drinks and eats the food of men, then he cannot be a god. And yet he implied he knows Remus is a wolf – Remus who, for the first time in his life, is unharmed after the full moon.

“I believe your heart is brave and pure, Remus, since you delved so deep into the forest to shed your human skin, despite the abundance of perils – the Centaurs do not like when strangers enter their realm, not to mention the fierce beasts that roam free in these woods, dangerous even for a wolf – only to avoid hurting people.”

Remus almost drops his full cup, and droplets of wine spill on his trembling fingers like red pearls. “No mortal man can be left unscathed after witnessing the wolf’s transformation! You must be dear to the deathless gods if they spared your life – surely the chaste Artemis, Queen of Beasts, blessed you with her protection and infused courage into your heart.”

Sirius only smiles, his beautiful mouth a scythe that cuts into Remus’ heart as if bow-armed Eros struck a flaming arrow into his chest.

“I am devoted to the Mother of Desire, laughter-loving Aphrodite,” Sirius replies. “And I am not afraid of wolves.”

From the dark well of forgotten memories, Remus dredges up confused impressions of the previous night: a black muzzle, sharp teeth, strong paws digging into the loose soil. But the full moon always leaves his mind with nothing but murky imprints, shaky reflections in a water mirror.

“Are you a wolf?” he asks, unable to conceal the hope that tinges his voice. The only wolf he has met was the one who bit him, a long time ago: a beastly, bloodthirsty man his father had the misfortune to anger. “Are you like me?”

Sirius’ smile quickly fades in a compassionate expression. “No, I am not a wolf, nor am I a god’s favourite,” he replies. “But I am indeed like you, in a way.” Then he shudders.

Remus cries out. Instead of Sirius, there’s a ghastly black dog that sways his tail and licks Remus’ wine-stained hands. Remus withdraws at once.

Is Sirius  _ cursed _ by the gods? Is he one of those monsters that the goddess Hecate, Lady of the Crossroads, sends to frighten wanderers?

The dog shifts into Sirius again, suddenly so close that Remus can see the shadow of his dark eyelashes fanning on his cheeks. “Do not be scared, for I bear no ill will,” Sirius says, and then he waves his fingers. The lyre on the stone starts playing as if invisible fingers are plucking at its strings, and blood-red anemones blossom at once from rising green stems – the sweet plant of Aphrodite. “I am a sorcerer.”

Remus regards him with wide, staring eyes and waits for the sacred brothers, Deimos and Phobos, to seize his heart with fright and dread. All the sorcerers he encountered – back when his dear mother still seeked a cure for his condition – sliced his body to draw out his cursed blood, applied leeches to his limbs or forced him to drink foul-smelling potions that caused him fevers and nightmares, and all to no avail. But fear does not come, replaced by flower-bearing Elpis, the golden flame of hope that strengthens the heart of mortals.

“Master sorcerer,” he begins to say, his voice betraying the doubts swirling like mist in his mind. “Do you have a cure for my illness?”

Sirius shakes his head, long dark locks swaying in the light breeze. “No, sweet Remus. I apologise to bear such ill news, but there is no cure for your curse. If a sorcerer tells you otherwise, then they are nothing but vile frauds who wish to deceive you.”

Remus bows his head, attempting to hide the bitter shadow of disappointment that darkens his face, but the warm-rough press of fingers under his chin persuades him to look into Sirius’ sharp eyes. “But I can assist, and your transformations will become less painful – the dog I turn into every time I see fit can guard the wolf and ensure it does not harm anyone nor yourself; and I believe the herbs and salves and enchantments I employed on you earlier healed your bruises and cuts quite well.”

“I thank you for your benefaction,” Remus replies, unable to tear his gaze away from Sirius’ lovely face; he believes it should be carved into bronze or marble, for no sculptor could ever chisel more perfect features. “I beg you, since I am now in debt with you, how can I return your kindness?”

Sirius smiles and averts his eyes, a gentle blush gracing his tan cheeks, suddenly turning shy. “If I were clever and full of various wiles, I would humbly beg for a kiss from your honey-sweet lips.”

Red paints Remus’ face; he sometimes admired other boys in the gymnasium, but when he received rabbits and hares as courtship gifts, he was too shy to accept a lover, afraid that they would discover his curse. He knew not what love was until now. 

“You should not beg,” Remus says, “for what I will freely offer.” 

And so he kisses Sirius’ warm mouth and parted lips,  a thrill of delight running through his body. 

“There is another matter, darling Remus.” Sirius caresses his bare shoulder under the cloak. “I believe the gods did not arrange our meeting only to sate our love hunger; I came here to rescue a Unicorn, but I am also on a quest to find an apprentice. A companion.”

Remus frowns, his mind seized by an ancient doubt. “But magic cannot be taught; one must be born with it.”

Sirius regards him with a burning stare. “Indeed. Do strange things not happen when you are afraid or enraged?”

Remus loses himself in those blue-grey eyes. Quite a lot of odd things happened when he felt scared or sad... He has always felt different, as if there was a veil between him and other people. His mother was always quick to blame his curse for all those strange occurrences, but she, after all, does not know magic. 

“You are a sorcerer, Remus.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://aryastark-valarmorghulis.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
